He gave a snort at that. “That’s where you’re wrong, Reginald.”
“Reginald is a boy’s name.”
“It’s the best I could come up with on short notice.” His fingers raked through his hair, pulling the inky mess of tangles off his temple. “My point is that I don’t feel sorry for anyone. Least of all you. And I am far too selfish to ever do anything out of pity. So if I say that I want to kiss you then damnit, it means I want to kiss you.”
Four strides, and he was across the room.
Two more, and she was in his arms.
His hands settled on her waist. His mouth pressed on her lips. The connection was immediate. The fire hot enough to singe. She tasted even better than he remembered, a tantalizing concoction of honey and citrus, sweet and tart, that fanned the flames of his ardor until they threatened to ignite the bloody ceiling.
But even as he thrust his fingers into her hair and slid his tongue into the velvety cavern of her mouth, he cautioned himself to proceed with restraint. Their first encounter with shared passion had been spontaneous, and far too short because of it. Rosemary was not inexpensive gin to be carelessly guzzled, but rather a fine wine to be sipped…and he wanted to enjoy every swallow.
A breathy purr rolled from her throat when he angled his head and deepened the kiss, using his teeth to draw on her bottom lip with just enough force to have her nails digging into his shoulders before he soothed the bite with a lazy stroke of his tongue.
When she did the same to him, albeit with the adorable clumsiness of someone relying on pure instinct instead of expertise, he went absolutely still. Every muscle, every bone…even his breath, frozen in stunned wonderment at the sheer, unadulterated rush of desire that poured straight into his veins.
Sterling had made love to some of the most wanton creatures the devil himself could imagine. The sheer decadence of the acts he’d both performed and had performed on him were…suffice it to say, their iniquity would make a sinner blush. But when Rosemary hesitantly returned his kiss, every other pleasurable act he had ever committed immediately paled in comparison.
On a growl, he threw his vow of self-control to the wind. To hell with caution. To hell with restraint. He wanted now. He wanted this. He wanted Rosemary. Kissing her, being kissed by her, was the closest he’d felt to being alive since he’d watched Sebastian die.
His fingers streaked across her shoulders and around her ribcage to cup her breasts, and his growl turned into a helpless groan when he discovered they were just as soft and full as he’d dreamed they’d be whenever he closed his eyes and hovered in that empty space between sleep and liquor-induced oblivion.
Her nipples were hard, even through the tragic number of layers that comprised her traveling habit, and he encircled them lightly between his thumbs and index fingers, skillfully wrenching a moan from her lips as her head lolled to the side, exposing the slender line of her throat that was simply too tempting to ignore.
He kissed the sensitive juncture where her neck and collarbone met, then trailed upwards until his teeth clasped her earlobe and gave a light, teasing suckle.
Clementines and spring.
She was clementines and spring, and he was…he was enthralled.
Enraptured.
Entranced.
The Duke of Hanover, libertine extraordinaire, was entranced by a mousy little wallflower. The realization of which jolted him out of the euphoric haze he’d temporarily lost himself in and back into cold, unforgiving reality.
He released her with such abruptness that she lost her balance, and it was a good thing the settee was there or else she might have fallen, for he was too busy raking his nails along his scalp and asking himself what in all that was holy he thought he was doing to catch her.
“That was…”Amazing. Life-changing. The first glimpse of light I’ve seen in six dark, sunless years.“That was a mistake. Just another bloody mistake.” He dragged a hand down his face. Opened his eyes to find her staring at him, her lips swollen, her cheeks pink, her blue-gray gaze filled with more hurt and bewilderment. Which made him feel like the world’s largest arse. But he’d be an evenbiggerarse if he encouraged any type of romantic entanglement between the two of them.
They’d had their kiss.
She could go on to tell her friends how splendidly rakish he was.
And he…he could slink back into the hole he’d crawled out of.
“I wish you well in London, Rhona,” he said briskly. “Good luck with the rat. Now I must bid you adieu.”
Her plump mouth parted in dismay. “But I lo–”
“Oh God,” he grimaced. “Don’t say it.”
Another reason why he avoided innocents?
The blasted things fell in love at the drop of a hat.
A glossy curl tumbled across her temple as she shook her head. “But–”
